Making It Better
by Bonsoir
Summary: FE7. In an attempt to catch the mysterious "bread bandit" who has been pilfering food from Castle Caelin's kitchens at night, Sain sets a trap. Unfortunately, he ends up trapping the lady of Caelin and his poor boon companion, instead.


**Title:** Making It Better  
**Characters:** Kent, Lyndis, Sain, Hausen  
**Genre:** Romance, Humor  
**Words:** 7,908  
**Notes:** For Agirlnamedtsu on Tumblr, as part of the FE Exchange for this holiday season. Happy Christmas to everyone; I thought we could all use something silly at this time of year. Notes are on Tumblr—link in my profile.

* * *

Kent was not on patrol—not officially. Having recently completed a backlog of paperwork, he decided it would be prudent to investigate the mysterious "bread bandit" that Sain had been talking about for at least two weeks. According to Sain, the bandit struck in the middle of the night, stealing food from the kitchens. The head cook suspected that one of Kent's men was responsible. Kent denied it was so, and Sain relayed the message, but the cook insisted, so Kent had been forced to reprimand his men and remind them that sneaking into the kitchens to take food in the middle of the night was absolutely against the rules.

Even so, that very night, a week ago, now, more food had been stolen. Since then, things had continued to go missing from the kitchens: several apples, slices of bread—even wine and cheese from the cellar.

It was worth a few minutes of his time to walk by the kitchens, just to see if the person responsible was there. If he caught them, the mystery would be over and he would have to punish them for their misdeed, and if not, he would get to go back to his room to get what sleep he could manage before his morning duties.

As luck would have it, he heard a faint sound just as he passed by the kitchen doors. Coming to a halt mid-stride, Kent held his breath, listening intently.

It sounded a bit like rummaging, he decided after a moment.

The shuffling of items on shelves, the moving of things just a little to the left or right, the quiet closing of cupboard doors and the soft clanking of cutlery and iron pots as they swung on their designated hooks.

Definitely rummaging.

Rather than let his curiosity pique at this odd sound coming from the darkened kitchens in the middle of the night, Kent found his temper flaring. Saying it once to his men should have been enough: _no sneaking food from the kitchens after the evening meal!_

But did anyone actually listen to him? No. No, of course not. They thought they could get away with anything as long as they weren't caught.

"I've come up with a trap to catch the bread bandit," Sain had said to him just that evening. "I keep getting blamed for it, which is a wound to my pride and my honor. Don't worry, my friend, I'll capture the fiend for you and then we can put all of this behind us!"

So much for Sain's clever trap! Whatever it was. Sain had refused to say: "In case the culprit is actually you, Kent," he'd teased. As if Kent would do such a thing!

Whoever _had_ disobeyed his order wasn't going to get off easily. Not this time. He really couldn't afford to be soft, not with his men constantly chomping at the bit. If he didn't rein them in, he feared his control over them would break. What kind of military would he be running, then? He supposed it was partially due to the fact that he had been away from his post _saving the world_—no big deal or anything!—but of course he couldn't tell anybody the truth. Nobody would believe him. Dragons and ancient heroes and necromancers, oh my! The entire thing sounded over-the-top silly, like one of Sain's exaggerated stories. He wondered if they even believed that he had slain Darin of Laus—revenge for his having stormed Castle Caelin more than a year ago.

Not that Kent cared what they thought of him. His concern was directed more toward keeping his men in line; it was difficult to keep them (many of whom were older and crankier, or younger and wilder, than himself) under control when they thought he had spent the last year gallivanting across Elibe with Sain and Lady Lyndis having a grand time.

In reality, it had been an unpleasant experience, and his left knee was proof of that. Not that his men would ever accept a bit of a limp and a thick scar to mean anything.

As he heard the unmistakable sound of glasses bumping into one another, he decided that whoever it was in the kitchens—they were going to get an earful from him; he didn't care _what_ time it was! He was still Caelin's Knight-Commander, and unless he was suddenly and forcibly removed from his post…he would do exactly what he thought was appropriate.

Not only was ignoring a direct order from a high-ranking officer in the military a military offense, but in Kent's mind, it was a personal offense as well; the former was unacceptable, and he was sick and tired of the latter.

Deliberately, he strode through the wide doors of the kitchen, his boots loud against the hard flooring. "What," he snapped, annoyed, "do you think you're doing when you've been told _repeatedly _th…at…"

He floundered to a stop, teeth clicking together as he tried to speak words that failed to form. Now that he was close enough, the figure of the mysterious bread bandit was cast into sharp contrast by the candle he held in his hand; her identity was unmistakable.

"You are most assuredly _not_ one of my men," he found himself saying. And then, after a flush of confused embarrassment and a bow at the waist, "Please forgive the intrusion and my outburst, Lady Lyndis. I thought you were someone else."

"No apology is necessary," she said, straightening her back and turning to look at him. The guilty expression she wore fell away from her face as she smiled at him, and his heart fluttered. "I don't look enough like a man for you to _really_ mistake me for one, do I, Kent?"

"N-Not at all, my lady." He flushed again, but hid it well by moving the candle he held to another angle. If the thief was Lady Lyndis, he didn't have to yell at anyone. His irritability began to drain away, and relief settled in.

Contrary to what most of his men thought, he did not enjoy doling out punishments or catching people doing things that required them. He never shied away from conflict, but he definitely didn't go looking for it, either; he had better things to do.

Like take in Lady Lyndis's attire, of course. He couldn't help but notice the floor-length, cream-colored nightdress she wore. It was indecent to stare, but it was so different than her daytime clothes that he had a hard time turning away; she was wearing more than she usually did, anyway. Not that any excuse to let his gaze linger would be a valid one. The material of her nightdress was soft-looking. And thin. He supposed it had a strange sort of appeal to him, and before he could think on it further and do something stupid like touch it, he forced himself to look elsewhere.

Like Lyndis's hands, which were holding what remained of the bread from supper last.

"_You're_ our thief?" he asked before thinking, and cursed himself for being so stupid as to accuse his lady liege of being a thief, of all things.

"Only this night," she laughed. "I was actually looking for something sweet."

That meant the thief wasn't caught. He pushed his disappointment away. At least he was able to see Lady Lyndis for a few moments; he had not spoken to her in weeks, and he had missed her.

"There is fruit in the cellar," he offered, and gestured toward the open pantry door.

"Oh, perfect!" she said. "I've been craving something like that for days. I couldn't sleep for thinking about it, so here I am." She moved toward the pantry and Kent smiled at the way she walked—on her toes, as if she were sneaking around her own castle; as silly as it was, he found it rather charming.

"Allow me," he said quickly, and in a few long strides, made it there before her.

The cellar door was situated at the back of the pantry, and the door was built into the floor. It was made of a heavy wood to ensure that it could be walked upon, and a metal ring at the back of the door attached to a hook from the ceiling when one wanted the door to stay open while they went below for food or wine.

The door opened with a groan, and he felt Lyn's fingers against his own, asking him for his candle.

"I'll only be a moment," she said.

He decided not to latch the door—it was no trouble to hold it open for a little while, not if it was for her.

"Do you want anything?" Her eyes were on his; she looked soft in the tallow light.

"No," he said, "but thank you." She was always so thoughtful. He might have been tempted to touch her, then, but she headed down the stairs before he could decide if it was a bad idea or not; instead, he watched the weak light of the candle spill down into the darkness as she walked. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from telling her to be careful; saying such things to Lady Lyndis usually ended with her feeling slighted, and he did not want her to think that he thought her incapable or clumsy.

She made her way down the stairs steadily, one after another, and he was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when there was a crash and a startled exclamation and the light went out.

He was afraid to say anything for a long moment, but finally he tried a tentative, "Lady Lyndis?" and lifted the door further up, as if it would help him see her.

Her voice floated up to him, strained but lighthearted: "It seems there were a couple more steps!"

It wasn't the answer he was looking for. "Are you unhurt?"

She was quiet for a little bit, but finally she said, "I think I—well, I'm sure nothing is _broken_, but—"

He did not give her a chance to finish; that was always her way, to make light of things like injuries, but to insist they were serious when it came to anyone else. "Please," he tried, "don't try standing yet. I will be right there."

He was already lifting the door as high as it would go so that he could slide the ring over the hook; he hardly waited to feel it catch before he started down the stairs.

He was much slower than Lyndis had been, certain that she would not appreciate him falling on top of her, and very aware that the slight limp in his walk made falling on the narrow stairsteps twice as likely for him.

He felt around in the dark for her, and heard her intake of breath just as his fingers brushed the back of her shoulders.

"Hello," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"What did you hurt?" he asked.

"I don't think it's very bad," she admitted, and took his hand in hers. "It's my foot. Just stay there so I can try to stand on it."

As he helped Lyndis to her feet, a loud crash came from overhead, making both of them jump.

"What was that?" she whispered, her voice fluttering uncertainly. She was suddenly closer than she had been just a moment ago, and he hoped she couldn't hear his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"The door," he managed to say. "It must have fallen."

"Didn't you put the—?"

"Yes," he said, suddenly worried, but he pushed those concerns aside. "How is your foot?"

"I can stand on it," she told him. "It's a little uncomfortable, but—"

"I'll look at it," he said, and leaned back, feeling around behind him with his free hand for the bottom stairstep; when he found it, he pulled her back with him. "Sit next to me, and I'll see what I can do."

She did so, but laughed. "You can't see anything down here, Kent."

"Well," he faltered, "I'll feel it, I suppose. To see if it's swollen."

"All right," she agreed. "I don't think it's that bad, though."

It wasn't, but Kent preferred to be safe and not sorry—never sorry, particularly when it came to Lady Lyndis's health. "I think it's fine," he said, but didn't let go of her foot, and after a moment, he nearly forgot that he was holding it; usually, he wasn't at liberty to touch her skin at all. Almost absently, he brushed his thumb over her ankle.

She wriggled a little bit, her toes curling. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Are you going to kiss it to make it better?"

His grip on her foot tightened, and she squirmed again, sounding as if she were about to laugh.

"Isn't that a Lycian thing? To kiss injuries to make them better?"

"It doesn't actually do anything," he said, relaxing a little, and letting out a breath, but not letting go of her foot.

"But people still do it, right?"

"I suppose they do."

"Is that what you're planning on doing?"

He hadn't even thought of it, but he didn't want to tell her that. He also couldn't tell her that he was holding her foot still because he liked how her skin felt, that he wanted to keep feeling it—up her leg and—

"Do you want me to?" he asked. It was a cheap answer, but it was better than telling her the truth.

She took what felt like a long time in answering. "Yes," she finally said, sounding cheerful. "I do. Maybe it will help. You never know."

He smiled at that even though he blushed, but of course she could not see either in the dark. The knowledge made him feel bold enough to bend his head to kiss the top of her foot, close to her toes.

"Does it feel better?" he asked, feeling silly, but also brave enough to tease her.

"Mm, no," she said. "Maybe you should try it again."

Something deep down inside told him to laugh and brush it off with a declination, but that something was squashed into oblivion when one of her hands brushed through his hair. "Of course," he murmured, and pressed a kiss to the same spot.

"Still nothing," she said. "There has to be some truth to it, or it wouldn't be a saying, though, right?"

"Perhaps, milady."

"Maybe higher up," she said.

He didn't need to be told twice.

"Mm, maybe a little further."

When he kissed her ankle, she just hummed unconvincingly, so he kissed a little further up, and then further, with his fingers supporting the back of her calf. With her encouragement, he kept going until he reached her knee, and pressed a lingering kiss there at the top of it, before he pulled himself away.

"Lyn," he whispered, torn equally between kissing all the way up the length of her leg—or even her body, if she'd let him—and pulling away. Half a second passed before pulling away won out, and he stepped around her blushing madly and feeling too turned on and completely out of line. "I'll," he said, and cleared his throat. "Let me check the door."

Blessedly, or perhaps worryingly, she did not say anything.

He pushed up on the door, gently at first, and then harder until his muscles strained, but it would only rattle a bit. It had to be Sain's stupid trap. Kent could have screamed, but it wasn't worth the energy.

He sighed before he made his way back down the stairs in the darkness, and as he sat back down beside her on the last step, he said, "It's locked. I am beyond sorry, Lady Lyndis. I—I knew Sain had set a trap of some kind for the supposed bread bandit, but I did not expect this."

"Oh well," she said, and he could feel her shift beside him. "The night is half over, anyway."

He gave a soft, "Indeed, my lady," as a response, but nothing more. He was unsure of what had just happened between them, and he was afraid of bringing it up again, to ask after it. Surely, after all that he had said, and all that he had done—small things though they were—she understood how he felt. And Lady Lyndis—she would not toy with his feelings; that was not her way. But he still felt doubt, cold and deep in the pit of his stomach.

They had only been back in Caelin for four months, but it felt much longer to him; he hardly saw her, and when they were together, they were not afforded the same freedom of the war: the freedom that had allowed him to say that he cared about her.

"Lyn," she said, very quietly. He opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, but she spared him the trouble: "You called me Lyn. Just a moment ago."

"M-My apologies," he managed, the feeling of her skin beneath his lips rushing back to him. "I meant no disrespect by it."

"I know. I wish you'd call me that more often, especially when we're alone."

"We're never alone," he said, trying to remember how often he had seen her since returning to Caelin, and if they had been alone any of those times.

She touched his arm, fingers curling around the inside of his elbow. "We're alone now."

"Yes. I suppose we are." He didn't know what else to say, and wasn't sure if she was still talking about her name or something else. He didn't dare ask, though; the answer to that question was dangerous if she wasn't talking about her name.

They sat there quietly for a long moment, until Lyn said, almost suddenly, "It feels better."

"What?"

"My foot."

"Maybe it worked, after all." He felt even his neck flush as he said it, and cursed the darkness because it made him too bold.

"Yeah," she said. "I think it did." And then, after a moment, still holding onto the inside of his arm: "Kent?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe we should make time to be alone together."

"What do you mean?" It was better to ask than to be presumptuous and be wrong. He was not very good at reading people, and he had no intention of making a stupid mistake. Not where Lady Lyndis was concerned.

"Well," she began, "since we have returned to Caelin…have your feelings changed?"

"Of course not, Lady Lyndis; they have remained the same as always." They would never change as long as he drew breath. "Why? Have I shown you otherwise?" Oh, Elimine, he hoped not. But he was wracking his memories before he had even finished his sentence to see if he could recall anything he might have said or done that could give her the wrong idea. "I assure you that if I did, it was a grievous mistake on my part."

"No, absolutely not. I just, I mean…" It was so odd to hear her sounding shy. He put his hand over hers. "If your feelings are the same," she continued, sounding more assured, "then we should spend more time together, shouldn't we?"

"Preferably not like this," he said, joking, but realized it probably sounded insulting. "I—uhm, I mean…it was nice, earlier, but—"

"It's cold down here," she said. "It would be much nicer to be alone together in an actual room."

"With lighting," he murmured, and moved his hand up her arm, searching for her face; he found her ear and brushed his fingers against it and the corner of her jaw, felt her shiver beside him from his touch.

"I don't know," she said, touching his face, too: the bridge of his nose, his cheek, the corner of his lips. "This is kind of fun."

He could hear her shift and felt her knee bump his leg. She kissed him first—or tried to. She missed his mouth, kissing his nose instead. The sound she made was one of frustration, so he tried to right things by tilting his head up. Unfortunately, his lips ended up against her nose, and he realized they had both moved at the same time.

Lyn didn't even bother to smother her amusement at their miscalculation. For a fumbling, pathetic second they tried to figure it out; their foreheads bumped together once, clumsily. Finally, Lyn's lips half-landed on his, or maybe it was the other way around—though he was certainly willing to give her the credit. From that point, it was easy to figure out. The only thing preventing him from kissing her absolutely senseless was his own embarrassment, and he pulled away, face burning.

"You're right," she said, her voice faint-sounding even though she was only inches away. "Lighting would be better."

"Safer," he agreed.

She laughed. "I guess at least we didn't knock teeth," she said, and pressed her forehead gently against his.

"I hate to be presumptuous, Lyn," he was so proud that he remembered, but it was easy to when he could feel her breath against his face, "but does this mean…?"

"What do you want it to mean?" she whispered.

"Oh," his face burned twice as hot, "I shouldn't say."

"Please?"

Embarrassed, he buried his face against her neck as he hugged her to him. "Surely by now you must know that I love you."

"For how long?" she asked. "You've never said it before. Not so plainly."

She sounded pleased, or he might have been tempted to try lying.

"Since—" he had to think hard. "Before Laus invaded us, I am sure." When the castle had been stormed without even a fight, Kent hadn't thought twice about getting Lady Lyndis out. Just Lady Lyndis. In that moment, when fear had slithered down his spine, cold and scaly, she was the only person that mattered.

It was shameful because it was not loyalty to his liege—Lord Hausen—but to someone else, and his feelings were not borne of loyalty, but love; still, he could not help how he felt.

"What?" she asked. "That soon? I was sure—" She broke off and squeezed him tight, kissing his hair. "You are very silly," she laughed, "to wait so long to say something! After Laus invaded I knew how _I_ felt about _you_, but I was too afraid to ask you how you felt. And when I finally did ask, I was I was afraid of your answer, and I avoided you until you cornered me and made me listen to you."

"I did not give you the answer you wanted, that day," he said, blushing, and pulled away so that he could touch her hair, brush her bangs out of her eyes even though she couldn't see anything in the darkness anyway.

"You could have been clearer, but at least I knew that you cared."

"I wish I had admitted it then," he told her after a moment. "I was afraid to overstep my bounds."

"Maybe it was for the best," she said. "Look, because of it, we were given this opportunity to be alone."

"And here I thought it was your craving for something sweet that did it," he tried teasing.

"And your food thief. So what is the story behind that?"

Kent groaned. He had kind of hoped Lyn would kiss him, but her mention of the food thief just reminded him of the cellar door being latched, and that in turn reminded him of what he was going to say to Sain when he saw him next.

"That bad?" she asked.

"Oh, someone has been coming into the kitchen most nights taking food," he explained. "Sain calls them a bread bandit though they've taken much more than bread; I think he likes the way it sounds. The head cook isn't very happy about it; he thinks it's one of my men, and—well, that's why I was near the kitchens, you see. I was hoping to find out who it was."

"And give them a firm tongue-lashing," she added, sounding affectionate. It made him blush.

"I swear I would not have spoken to you that way if I had realized it was you."

"I don't know," she teased. "I kind of liked it. I think it's the most equal you've ever treated me."

"No, the most equal I've treated you was just a few minutes ago."

"Oh, right. When we were bumping our faces together like a couple of goats."

Goats. He felt his face and neck flush. "I am sorry, for that. I admit that I am…rather inexperienced."

"We'll do better next time."

"When will that be?" Maybe it was too bold of a question.

"Right now?" she suggested, and found his lips so easily it surprised him. She was a quick study, and for that, he was glad, because he was slow to learn and had to look a fool a hundred times over before he managed anything correctly.

This kiss was slower, and easier to follow due to the lack of embarrassment lurking under the surface. One hand stayed against her face while the fingers of his other hand slipped into her hair, following it from the back of her neck down to her lower back, where his hand remained until she began to pull back.

"That was better," he admitted, and bit back the urge to tell her that practice made perfect. If she wasn't familiar with the phrase, she would think he was a cad.

She settled down beside him, curling into his side. It was chilly and all she had on was her nightgown; she hadn't even brought a robe with her, so he didn't feel too silly about putting an arm around her.

"How will we explain us being here when we are found in a few hours?" she asked.

He smiled at the tone of her voice; she didn't sound as if she actually cared a whit about it. "We'll tell them the truth, I expect."

"The whole truth?" She pulled his arm tighter around her.

"Just the beginning," he said.

"Okay." Her words were punctuated by a yawn.

"Perhaps you should get what sleep you can, this night," he suggested. It wouldn't be much but it would be better than nothing. She was always so busy, even a couple of hours would do her some good.

"Maybe," she murmured, and let out a soft breath. She didn't say anything after that, though, and he couldn't quite tell when resting turned into dozing.

It was perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes later when he heard a sound from overheard—a startled exclamation and shuffling. It had to be the _actual_ food thief, but when Kent went to stand up, just barely shifting, Lyn made a sound that was clearly annoyed and he decided that moving simply wasn't worth it.

As soon as they heard his voice, they'd flee anyway. It was best to wait another few hours for the chief cook to show up; he always arrived more than an hour before the rest of the staff, and that was a relief. Though Castle Caelin staffed much fewer in the kitchen than the castles of larger cantons, Kent did not want to deal with a hundred staring faces finding he and Lady Lyndis alone in the cellar at first light. The fact that they were alone looked much worse than it actually was, but that was all it took for damaging rumors to start spreading. And they always spread fast.

The next few hours were chilly, but nice. While Lyn slept, he ran his fingers through her hair and tried to remind himself not to blush when the head cook expressed surprise over finding the two of them in the cellar. When he heard another noise overhead, much later, he was sure that it was the head cook and whispered Lyn's name against her ear to wake her.

She groaned and tried to bury her face against him, but after a moment she seemed to realize what was going on and pulled away, yawning.

The sound of movement overhead eventually stopped and was replaced with excited murmuring. Kent and Lyn were both on their feet and halfway up the stairs when the cellar door groaned open. The sound made Kent want to put his hands over his ears. After another moment, candlelight, as it was still dark, spilled down from the entrance.

"A-ha!" a voice shouted, and Kent immediately moved his hand to his own hair to tug at it in frustration. "We've caught you now, you villainous bandit of bread!"

"Sain," he said flatly, face turning twenty shades of red and white in less than ten seconds, "please."

"Kent?"

Kent felt around for Lyn's hand and helped her up the stairs; her foot seemed to be a little sore, and he had no intention of letting her fall at any point, but he lacked the courage to simply scoop her up and carry her.

When they made it to the pantry floor, blinking in the painfully bright candlelight, the head cook greeted them. "Sir Kent. Lady Lyndis—what?"

"It's not what it looks like," Lyn defended right away, but Kent was sure that she had probably made things sound worse.

"_You're_ our thief?" Sain asked disbelievingly.

"No, you fool," Kent snapped.

"So you just decided to spend some time alone in the cellar with Lady Lyndis?" He looked doubtful—devious but doubtful. Kent hated that look. It meant trouble.

"I was hungry," she said, "so I went into the cellar."

Sain flinched noticeably, but so too did the head cook.

"My lady," he said, "I had no idea that…"

Sain patted his shoulder. "It was my idea," he defended the other man. "I did not expect that I might trap the wrong person."

"Oh well," she said. "It wasn't so bad."

"Wait a minute," Sain said, sounding suspicious while the head cook wandered off shaking his head. "Why was Kent down there with you?"

"I might have tripped down the stairs," she said.

"Ah, so of course your honorable knight Kent came to the rescue. But how did he know?"

"I thought I heard the food thief in the kitchen," he admitted, sighing.

"He gave me a tongue-lashing," Lyn said. "Or tried to."

Sain raised his eyebrows about as high as they would go without them flying right off his face. Kent wanted to smack them back down where they belonged, but he resisted the urge. "I would never have spoken so disrespectfully if I had not mistaken her for one of my men," he defended.

Sain gave Lyn a long stare and then turned back to Kent, then back to Lyn. Then he looked down at himself, and to the other room where the head cook was kneeling to light a fire, then back to Lyn. "You mistook Lady Lyn for a man," he said, sounding bewildered.

"Just the sound of her rustling around, you idiot!" he almost shouted, face reddening with embarrassment.

Sain ignored this. "Don't worry, Lady Lyn. None of the rest of us are as ignorant of your beauty as Kent. You look especially lovely today."

Kent gave up on trying to explain anything because reasoning with Sain was always at least a hundred and twenty percent impossible, while Lyn just blinked at the compliment and didn't seem to know how to take it.

"Okay," she finally said.

Kent couldn't help but smile a little, at that.

"Are we free to go?" he asked Sain. "Or do you intend to interrogate us all morning after getting us locked in the cellar all night?"

"Well, I suppose it was a little cold down there," he relented. "But you can't tell me it was all bad."

Lyn grinned, and held up her hands at either side of her head to look as if she had horns.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sain asked, smiling but obviously confused.

"Goats," Kent choked out, blushing madly.

"Lady Lyn looks nothing like a goat!" he gasped. "What a horrible thing to say! Kent, I knew you were terrible at speaking to women, but to say something like _that_, well—I just—I don't know what to say!"

"I like goats," Lyn defended. "They're pretty cute when they bump their heads together while they play."

Kent almost wished he could die.

"That doesn't explain why you—"

Before Sain found out too much, Kent interrupted him with a swift, "There was some discussion of goats, in the cellar: the highlight of the hours we spent underground."

Lyn's fake horns disappeared and her expression was one that made Kent think more of a pleased cat than anything. "Definitely the highlight," she said. And then, after a yawn that she tried half-heartedly to cover, "I'm sorry; I'm very tired."

"Well, you must get yourself to bed, milady. I'm sure your duties can wait a little while, today, all things considered. I will catch Mr. Bread Bandit tonight if it's the last thing I do."

"I want to help," Lyn said. "It could be fun."

"No more cellar door traps," Kent muttered. "Please. It will take someone an hour to fix this."

"We can do a stakeout, then." Sain looked happy. "Well, off to bed—both of you! Though, of course…not to the same bed." His eyebrows waggled suggestively and Kent smacked his shoulder, hard.

"Don't be crude," he said as he left, though he wished he could go back to Lyn's big, soft bed and curl up with her under the blankets. It would be nice.

* * *

Late that night, Kent waited in a dark corner of the pantry for the supposed "bread bandit" to arrive. Lyn showed up an hour later, dressed in her day clothes, this time—to his semi-disappointment—and she greeted Kent by giving him a long kiss. And then another.

And another.

His fingers were clenched in the fabric of her dress at the waist and his lips were against her neck when Sain's voice startled him:

"Partner!" It was a loud whisper.

They broke apart, Lyn covering her mouth to try not to laugh. "We're over here, Sain."

"Shh," he said, and then he was standing with them. "What are you to up to?" he asked, suspiciously, when Lyn's laugh leaked through her fingers.

She just laughed harder when Kent said, almost sounding breathless, "We were discussing goats, again. Charming creatures, really, don't you think, Lady Lyndis?"

"Oh yes," she said, and bit her lip hard.

"The two of you are so strange," Sain muttered. "But in the best of ways, I assure you, Lady Lyn. However, if I may make a suggestion…"

"Yes?"

"Having a candle burning is a dead giveaway that we're here."

"Ah." Not wanting to embarrass himself by admitting why they had the candle lit in the first place, Kent blew it out right away. "Of course. Thank you, Sain."

The first hour passed quickly, but after that, things were slow. They could not talk lest they risk giving themselves away, and so they had to content themselves with sitting in the dark doing nothing.

Since it was dark, however, Kent managed to take Lyn's hand and hold it, though doing so just made him wish he were alone with her in the cellar again, so that he could practice kissing her some more. Maybe having Sain there was for the best—so he didn't do anything stupid.

At last, several hours into their vigil, they heard it.

Footsteps. And then shuffling, rummaging.

"Ah, where is it?" a voice murmured.

Lyn whispered against Kent's ear, making him shiver: "He sounds familiar."

He agreed, but he couldn't quite place the voice.

Sain sucked in a breath as the bread bandit made his way into the pantry, and when the figure set down the candle and moved to the far shelf, Sain made his move, snatching it up and saying, "A-ha! I've got you now, Mr. Bread Bandit!"

Kent pulled Lyn forward with him as the bandit jumped nearly sky-high and whirled around, clutching his robe to him.

"What in Elimine's name is going on here?!" he demanded.

"Oh my," Lyn said.

They all recognized the voice at the same time, but Kent managed to find words first: "Lord Hausen!"

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked. "Can't an old man get himself a snack in the middle of the night without tripping over the cellar door or being ambushed by hooligans who lurk in dark corners?"

"Oops," Sain said. "My lord, we, ah, we apologize. You see, we were told that someone was sneaking in here stealing the food at night, and we sought that person's identity…"

Lord Hausen grumbled to himself, reached a shaking hand up to brush back his untidy bedhead. "It's not stealing when you own it," he said grumpily.

Kent was doubly glad he had not called up the cellar stairs for assistance with the door the night before. What would Lord Hausen have thought if he'd opened it to see his granddaughter alone down there with him?

"Grandfather?" Lyn asked hesitantly.

"Lyndis? Ah, my own granddaughter has become a hooligan who lurks in the kitchens in the night."

Kent let go of her hand, and she went to him. "We didn't mean to frighten you," she assured him. "What do you need? I'll get it for you. I'll even arrange it nicely on a plate and bring it up to your rooms for you."

That seemed to satisfy Lord Hausen, for he told Lyn what he wanted and then wandered back to his rooms with his candle, after Kent used it to relight his own.

"Here," she said, gesturing to the cellar door. "Hold this open for me, will you? He wants one of the apples, a red one."

Sain helped Kent with the door while Lyn took the candle and headed down the stairs. Kent might have offered to go for her, but she was always so stubborn about such things—about following through on her promises herself.

When she was almost to the bottom of the stairs, though, he heard a crash, and then a muttered curse.

"Lady Lyndis?" Sain asked, nearly dropping the door. Kent elbowed him hard with his free arm.

"You'd think I'd learn!" her voice floated up the stairs. "There were two more steps!"

"Ah, let me help you," Sain said, but Kent stopped him almost before he realized it:

"No!"

Sain looked taken aback. "What? Why?"

Kent thought of how to excuse his behavior, but remembered that morning: Sain would never understand. "I'll go," he said. "Don't move, Lyn," he called down, "just in case you've hurt something, this time."

"Lyn?" Sain whispered, but then he grinned. "Ooh. I see. Don't worry Kent, I'm your right-hand man; I will hold this door as long as it takes to rescue your lady love."

Kent wanted to kick him, but Lyn was more important at the moment, and he had already started picking his way down the stairs. At least the candle hadn't gone out, this time. It flickered faintly at the bottom.

"Are you all right?" he asked when he reached her.

"I think I might have really twisted it this time," she said.

"Here; I'll get the apple for you."

He took the candle and was back at her side in just a few moments with an apple, which he handed to her; she tucked it in her sash as he set the candle on the lowest stair. "Thank you," she murmured.

"You're welcome," he said as he leaned over to try picking her up—but somehow, it went completely wrong, and their heads bumped together, making Lyn groan.

"I thought you were going to kiss me!" she hissed.

"I was picking you up," he explained, confused. "Since you shouldn't walk on that foot if you've done something to it."

"Kiss me first," she insisted in a low whisper.

He had no choice but to comply. As he tried to pull away, Lyn pulled his face back to hers and bumped her forehead against his affectionately before she gave him a grin. It made him want to kiss her again; she looked so pretty in the candlelight.

Then she bleated at him, a very good imitation of a goat.

"What the everloving—?" he heard Sain mutter.

"Shh," Kent chuckled, unable to help himself as he kissed her one more time.

The look Sain gave them when they emerged at long last from the cellar was one colored with suspicion, though he said nothing—which, of course, meant that he would ask Kent a thousand questions later.

Kent knew exactly how he would go about answering those questions: the same as he always did when Sain asked stupid, too-personal things about him. He would stumble over his words like an idiot and probably blush madly and say it was none of Sain's business.

Which would invite more questions, naturally.

Sain cut up the apple nicely and arranged it on a plate while Lyn determined that she really had done something to her ankle. She ignored Kent's suggestion of fetching a healer, of course. Lyn hated the thought of bothering other people, particularly at inconvenient times. She asked him to carry her to her grandfather, instead.

Sain waggled his eyebrows over Lyn's shoulder at him and Kent tried hard to keep his face from turning red.

"I can't believe my grandfather was the bread bandit," she said, grinning, on the way up to her grandfather's room. "Of all the people…"

"Sain thought it wasn't important enough to bother him about," Kent explained, and in retrospect, it was kind of funny. Had Sain merely brought it to Lord Hausen's attention, all of the drama of the past two days could have been avoided! But deep down, Kent was grateful for it, for all of the obvious reasons.

By the time they made it to Lord Hausen's rooms, it was too late to give the apple to him; he had fallen asleep, and Lyn smothered a grin at it and started eating the apple herself as he took her to her own rooms.

"I'll be all right to ready myself for bed," she teased as he lowered her to sit on the edge of her bed. "I'll call a healer up first thing in the morning. I just don't want to bother them now, for something as trivial as this."

"I understand," he said, and loved her for it; she was the kindest person he knew.

"Kiss me," she told him, smiling as she made horns again with her hands.

He took her hands in his, laced their fingers together, and leaned forward to give her a soft kiss. "Good night, Lyn," he said.

"You remembered to call me Lyn," she said, pleased. "For that, I'll invite you to tea tomorrow afternoon. Will you come?"

"Of course," he said right away. "You were correct yesterday when you said that we have to make time to see one another, with both of us so busy. I will clear my schedule for tea every day." Maybe that was too presumptuous to say, but he didn't take it back.

"Good. I expect nothing less from you." She squeezed his hands. "It might not be as fun as the cellar but at least it will be more comfortable."

He smothered a smile, at that. "You're right," he said, and let her kiss him one last time; her lips brushed against his so lightly he wondered if he might have imagined it, afterward.

"Good night, Kent. I'll see you tomorrow."

He wanted to stay another hour or two or all night, but he made himself kiss her hand before he murmured another "Good night," of his own and left her room.

Sain was waiting for him in his room, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently.

"Tell me about the bleating!" he insisted right away.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Kent asked, shoving him toward the door, wishing he had thought to lock it before he'd gone to the kitchens the night before.

"It's code, isn't it," he said. "But what does it mean? Are you and Lady Lyn in cahoots?"

"What kind of a silly—"

"You are, aren't you?" he asked. "Talk of goats and such: people will think the two of you are…up to something." Sain eyeballed him warily.

"You already do, it seems. Leave me be."

"But I must know what it means! It's going to drive me mad wondering about it all night!"

When Kent finally managed to push Sain out into the hall, he pulled his door shut, but Sain pleaded one more time through the crack left in the door: "Kent, please. Tell me what this goat business is all about!"

"I'll tell you about the goat thing tomorrow," he said. "But only if you swear you'll go away and let me get some sleep."

"I promise," Sain said, crossing his finger over his chest as he grinned. "Tomorrow, though. Don't forget!"

"How could I," Kent said flatly. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes? Anything, since you're so willing to divulge the secrets of your heart to your best buddy, Sain!"

"You're taking over for me from two to four o'clock every afternoon from now on so that I can spend some time with Lyn. Alone."

Oh, it felt good to say—Lyn's name without a title, the word _alone_ as if it entailed a lot more than it did. And it felt even better to close the door while Sain stood there looking shocked, because Kent was sure it was the first time that he ever done anything to shock Sain.

But Sain recovered fast, said a loud, "Oohhhh," on the other side of the door, and then followed it up with a, "Kent? Why do you need two hours every day when you'll only last five minutes, tops?"

Kent's face burned bright red, but he took a deep breath and tried to pretend that he couldn't hear his supposed best friend.

"But what do goats have to do with this? Are we talking about rams, here? Rams would make so much more sense."

He continued to try to ignore him.

"If you need any advice about this sort of thing, though, you know you can come to me. I would hate for you to make a fool of yourself your first time, fumbling around trying to please her. Why, you don't even know where to touc—"

Kent yanked the door open and tried not to look angry or horrified. "If you shut the hell up and stop speculating aloud _in the corridor_, I'll tell you what the goat thing is right now."

Sain looked surprisingly cheerful. Too cheerful. He practically skipped into Kent's room, and sat down in Kent's chair with a grin. "From the beginning, if you please."

Kent sighed, realizing suddenly that telling Sain meant that the deluge of "advice" from his "boon companion" would never, ever end. He was going to hear about things he had probably never even thought about.

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
